Glarden: A world of Adventure!
by zeron251
Summary: Flaren Dal'run lives in the world of Glarden, a world full of wonder and adventure. Flaren's sixteen years old and lives in the port town of Gron, but when his town is attacked by Drow Elves, it's up to him and some friends to save the day.
1. prologue

Glarden: A World of Adventure!

Prologue

Flaren Dal'run was an orphan, and he has never had many friends. This little port town named Gron was the only place he ever knew. The sky was clear that day, the year 1200 A.R., and the air was especially crisp. The smell of fish and baked bread hung through the air.

"Huh? Oh boy, fish!" The sixteen year old Orphan yelled excitingly, jumping up from his bed that morning. Flaren was always rumbustious, and was almost always one of the first few people to awake in this little town, besides the drunks. The maroon haired boy quickly put on his brown vest-shirt and his wide trimmed hat, a dark blue one. He grabs his scarf on his way out the door.

It was usually pretty warm in Gron, given that it was on the southern coast of Korona, by the Sea of Ellia; but, He has a tattoo, a mark that he was always ashamed of. He has had the mark ever since he could remember.

Flaren quickly got down to The Raging Dragon, a tavern. It usually didn't give out free food, but every ten-day the owner would feed everybody for free! Flaren ran through the door of The Raging Dragon, sitting his happy-go-lucky self down at the counter.

"Three fishes please!" He said, every word dripping out of his mouth like slobber; in fact, slobber was dripping out of his mouth.

"Ye hungry, boy?" The bartender asked. He was a dwarf by the name of Bill.

"Yeah, I'm starving!"

"Then get yer darned mouth open and eat yer fish!" Both laughed, Flaren was used to Bill's attitude, for he was like a father to Flaren.

"So, Bill, have you seen those dark elves recently?" A customer asked, and that made Bill cringe a bit.

"No, I haven't! Do ye' think I have the darned time to look out for them Drow?"

" I was just wondering . . ." The costumer quietly said, getting up and walking out nonchalantly.

The man walked out into the streets, and around into an alley. He then pulled off an earring, his skin darkening and his hair growing longer and white.

"So," another drow hiding in the shadows asked, "are the towns folk aware of our presence?" The drow stepped out, brushing hair out of his face.

"No, the dwarf noticed but he's busy with his bar." The drow known as Treo explained.

"Good, master Frono will be pleased."


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter one: A certain kind of pleasure

Year of the dancing Pirates (1200 A.R)

Grono Verdero sat in his study, deep within some cave on the outskirts of Gron. What a coincidence that Gron and Grono sound so similar, he thought to himself. It wasn't a surprise that he was thinking that; however, because dark elves normally think highly of themselves.

He was old, even for a drow, signs of aging clear on his body. He shuffled around in his seat, uncomfortable and displeased that he had left his city in the Under Dark; but, alas, he would finally get what he wanted. Control. Power. The entire southern coast of Korona would be his!

What pleasure that brought to his aging mind, it was almost. . . arousing.

"Maybe I should cast a spell that could make my hair grow back. . ." The old wizard said to himself as Treo Verdero came in. Treo cast a grin at the old wizard, Grono not looking amused.

"What was that, my dear uncle?" Treo teased, but quickly caught himself as Grono gave him an evil scowl. The mage stood up, his back cracking as he does.

"Where have you been, boy?" Grono asked rather irritated by his nephew's immature behavior.

"Out."

"Where?"

"I had business."

"Damn it, boy! Speak before I cast a bolt your way!"

That didn't sit all to well with Treo. He started to draw his swords, Diamond and Dread, powerfully enchanted sentiment weapons.

"What was that, old man?" Treo spat at his dear uncle, venom dripping with every word.

Before Grono could even reply, he came at him in a force of reckless rage. Grono started to wiggle his slender fingers, silently mouthing a spell. By the time Treo's swords landed, Treo was bounced back onto his back by a force of energy.

"Do not toy with me, Treo. Nephew or not, I will kill you if you continue to disappoint." Grono hissed at his nephew.

"Yes, uncle. . ." He bowed, silently cursing the old man.

Bill came down at Flaren with a wooden ax at great speed. Flaren barely had time to dodge the attack, ungracefully stumbling backward onto his rear.

"C'mon me' boy! Don't think ye'll ever become one o' them fighters ye see coming in and out o' town fighting like that!" Bill roared, banging his wooden ax against his shield. Flaren charged the dwarf, his wooden sword aimed right at him.

How stupid of a maneuver! Bill could easily sweep the sword aside and chop at his chest or midsection! And he did.

Bill thrust his ax into Flaren's midsection, but smart Flaren spun around, using the Dwarf's short size to his advantage. He kicked the ax from his hand and brought the wooden sword down, straight for home! Bill wasn't gonna let that happen, oh no! He threw himself at Flaren, giving him a nasty blow to the stomach. Such force! The maroon haired teenager dropped his weapon, crashing to the ground and held his stomach.

"Ouch, that hurt!" Flaren complained through gridded teeth, and the dwarf laughed.

"Ye got a lot to learn, boy!" Bill roared, still laughing. Flaren started to laugh as well.

In the distance, a short elf stood watching the boy and the dwarf perform their dance, a clumsy one at that. Perhaps he should go down there, introduce himself and train the boy himself. Andri Slavito wasn't quite sure when to make his appearance.

He just untied his pony tail and let his dirt brown mane down, throwing the hood of his cloak over his head.

"If only you knew, little port town; If only you knew. Hell is upon us. . ."


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The dance of a blade

Year of the fire brand (1184 A.R.)

"Push! Push!" The Maroon haired man urged the woman in labor. Today was a special day for the Dal'run family. The woman screamed out profanities, and strained breathing. This concerned the man. Surely it isn't uncommon for a woman to have strained breathing and spewing profanities like a sailor, but she seemed to be pushing it a bit.

She was dying! The Maroon haired man squeezed her hand, urging her- no, begging her!- not to go.

"Please, dear merciful Gods, don't take her! Don't take my wife, or my son!"

Falder Dal'run watched as his wife died, and the doctor cut his boy out of her. He looked at the baby boy, his eyes tightly closed and maroon hair barely grown in. Was he dying as well?

The baby boy looked so pale and frail. He didn't cry, and he wouldn't eat much. Falder gazed upon the baby. What was he to do? He couldn't raise a boy alone, especially a sick one. Was he to sell the boy to a more fitting home with proper medicines? He was the boy's father!

That same night, with the baby asleep, a fever brewing, Falder got down on his knees and prayed.

"Whom ever hears this, please; my boy is sick and dying, we need help," he went on, "save my child, save. . ." That's right, he never gave the boy a name!

"Save my boy, and I'll give him whatever name you wish, Gods. Please, don't let him die. . ." The man begged, his eyes wet with moisture. His ears perked up, hearing a whisper, a very faint one, but still a whisper. The air around Falder dried up, and the temperature of the room rose dramatically.

"I will save your child," the faint whisper said, "but on one condition. . . You live your life for Flarox. . ." Flarox? Wait, The Flarox? The Fire Brand? Falder was taught to believe that a God that old was long dead.

"Then so be it, Flarox! My life belongs to you!" Falder promised, his eyes still wet, though this time out of happiness. His son was gonna live! Praise be to Flarox! Falder stood there in awe as a blast of magical energy surrounded his baby boy, and went into him.

Then a mark appeared on his neck. The Fire Brand's mark. The mark of the Phoenix.

II

Year of the fire brand (1184)

Falder was over joyed! His son was alive and healthy! There was still one problem though. . . How was he to live his life to a god of fire? Surely he couldn't go burn the town away or set fire to a forest! He looked over at his son, who he still hasn't named.

"My life belongs to Flarox, and so do you, my son. You shall be called Flaren. Flaren Dal'run. Yes, a fitting name for a orange eyed, maroon haired boy!" He said cheerfully, and baby Flaren gooed at it. Perhaps he could go, and travel the world; preach Flarox's message. . .

Yes, yes, that could work! He could leave Flaren with his friend Bill, the dwarf. The bartender, hopefully he could raise him to be a fine young man. He looked at his son sadly, knowing he'll not see him again.

III

It was storming, the lightning cracked across the sky. The thunder boomed like a bass drum, and the clouds couldn't be darker on this day. Falder Dal'run was going to abandon his son; well, not abandon, he was leaving him in capable hands. He walked slowly down the cobblestone roads of Gron, towards the Raging Dragon.

"Bill, my dear friend. . . I need you to look after my boy." Falder approached Bill with, hoping, just hoping that he'd take him.

"Aye', and what are ye dropping him on me for?" The bartender asked, not quite looking up to the task. That was Falder took a deep breath and started to explain.

"Elizabeth has died Bill, and the funeral will be in Cartlestin, the next town over. I cannot bring Flaren, for the journey is too dangerous for a baby." He explained with out skiping a beat, taking a swig of whiskey.

"Aye', so be it then. . ." Bill agreed, but he didn't know that Falder wouldn't return.

IV.

Year of the dancing pirates (1200 A.R.)

"Alright boy," The mighty bartender roared, "to me and you'er going out an' killing some goblins!" Bill picked up his real ax, with many notches, and tossed Flaren a sword.

"Uh, Bill. . . This sword feels weird." Flaren complained, and Bill tossed him a mace, grumbling something that the maroon haired boy couldn't quite distinguish. The mace felt so light and balanced, it was amazing! Surely Flaren was going to get himself killed, the dwarf thought.

Two miles out of Gron, they walked. The forest was so beautiful in the summer solstice. Too bad that everything wanted to kill you, except for the deer and the squirrels.

Goblins, Orcs, Barbarians, you could find them out here. Especially goblins and barbarians.

"We're looking for a couple o' goblins with a red band around their heads." Bill whispered, sneaking through the forest, Flaren close behind.

"Red bands? Got it!" Flaren dumbly yelled out. No, what has he done? Right beside a squad of them! The six goblin squad yelled something that neither Flaren or Bill could understand, and took up their spears and flimsy swords for combat!

"Get ready boy!" Bill roared excitingly, banging his ax against his shield. Flaren rose his mace defensively. One goblin came at Bill, his flimsy sword leading in, but Bill swung the blade aside and bashed the goblin in his ugly face, making it stumble back. Flaren was backing away defensively as a goblin repeatedly lunged its spear at him.

The orphan boy fell back onto his rear, expecting the goblin spear to penetrate his chest, but in a flash the spears head was cut straight off. Flaren looked up to see Andri Slavito, holding two broad swords.

"Who are you?" Flaren asked unwittingly, and Andri looked down at him.

"Take your dwarf and run. The whole damned camp knows we're here." The short elf ranger stated, and and gestured for them to move.


End file.
